The Irish standard., 1887-07-16
TIE OLD BELL-RINGBRl.
Translated From the French by G. W.
Chafee,

Ii IS n1gNJ. AS iuCJA SHSA o1S
dark forest shedding long rays OF tre1nb-
ling light through its acched aisles. And
the hamlet down yonder on the rivers
brink almost to view under the fir trees
is wrapped in that darkness peculiar to
ypring nights, when misty yapors rise
from The earth. dissolving the heightened
shadows of the forest and covering the
fields and hedges with phosphorescent
hInae.
All is still, and the village sleeps in
III shadow and silence.
The rude cabins sketch their murky
masses here and there perforated by the
auivering reflections Of the light From
time TO time the creaking OF 81 door OF
it's hinges, or may be the barking OF a
dog ip the distance catches the listening
ear, then 3 relapse into silence.
Now shadows seemingly detached from
the forest dance along the road. First
pedestrian, then 8 man Oh horseback,
then a vehicle with rumbling wheels
and creaking axle-t:ee.
These are peasants from The forest
@,aulets hastening 10 church, for it is
Raster morning.
The campanile OF the village church
shoots skyward like an arrow shot from
tbe hillside. One can see the burning
Of the wax candles through the openings
in the tower.
On the winding stairs leading up to
the belfry heavy footballs resonnd; it is
ola Mikael the bell-ringer going up the
steep}e. and the light from his lantern
shines like pale star.
The ascent is painful, and the old man
Dreatheg hard as he mounts the steps.
His feet refuse to carry him and he can
scarcely see the way. Old Mikael is SO
worn out--that is what's the ,natter--so
worn out! 1t lis quite tiue he thinks,
yos. rudely time. to depart for the eter~
nal realra OF rest; but God, it appears,
is not to h;s way Of thinking, for He
sends no angel Of death to meet Linn.
Yet he has lost his children, and his
grandchildren have all gone on; he has
seeu The earth open to take the young
end old, while he is left alone. This is
wia7 life is become burden to him.
How many times has he climbed into
the belfry to ring for Che spring-tide
festival!
How many tjn1es He can scarcely
reckon, yet he is still here. and it is
Dlair that God wants him to keep on
ringing his bells.
The old man approaches the railing
and leans over it, thoughtfully. Below
him lie can see Gods acre surrounding
the church, bristling with worm-eaten
crosses, which, with extended arms
look like guards mounted near the dead.
Ash trees cluster round the graves hang
ING over them tenderly as their resinous
odors fill the sir and reach the old bell
ringer. who is even now grown chill and
numD III TIE S'oILON4Gi S1OoAn Va 1IAO St0A~
nal sleep.
Where will he be next year?
Under the great lron-tongued bell
startling the Silly night with his noct11r-
nal chimes? Or, having rung his own
"passing knell'' will he stretch himself
ont under the stool in yon dark corner
of the quiet ehnrchyard? God knows
AS for him, he is ready, death may
come! With his gaze turned upward
where myriads Of stars jewel the sky,
the old man makes the Sign Of the
Gross.
s.Mikael, Mikael'
A voice from below is calling him, G
broken, trembling voice. The old vii
lage beadle is looking up the tower. He
Is irving to discern The belfzy; with
hands clasped oyer his blinking eyes he
is calling out.
Here / am, what do you want? an
srers the old bell-ringer, leaning once